


There Are No Prisoners

by musiclily88



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10013636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: Who the hell is Bucky? And who the hell is he?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a Cap/Bucky fic for who knows what reason. I don't.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_ indeed, like he would remember that guy, like he should remember anyone at all.

Who the hell is Bucky? And who the hell is he?

::

He’s the soldier the world needs, apparently, and he does Cryo so much and so often that they’ve deemed him _Winter Soldier,_ which is hilarious. He’s not wintry, no, he’s warm, he’s white-hot—he’s angry. His arteries and veins burn every single moment of the day.

And then they stick the mouth-guard in him, and they wipe him clean, and his body burns.

::

He’s flat on his back.

He’s looking up at the sky, and it’s bright but gray and kind of pretty. He doesn’t really know what _pretty_ means sometimes, but he links it to someone he thinks maybe he used to know.

He’s flat on his back and there’s pain emanating from everywhere, and something’s not okay.

He blinks twice, the bright gray sky all he can see.

He starts to laugh.

 

Within what feels like moments, he’s back in the chair, back with the mouth-guard bit in his mouth like he’s a goddamn horse in reins.

Within moments, he’s on fire.

::

He comes to slowly, mouth dry. They give him water, because apparently they think they’re not monsters.

He knows better. He doesn’t know much, but he knows better than them.

::

To live is to burn.

His gaze used to scorch when he looked at Steve—that he remembers. His attention was stupid and unavoidable and ridiculous. Before the serum, it had a taste of indulgence; after, it was just frightening.

They could always hurt one another, but anymore it doesn’t feel like love.

 

But wait. Who’s Steve?

::

The Winter Soldier skids along concrete like nothing, because it doesn’t hurt him anything at all. He laughs as his leg scrapes up, as his blood seeps out. The pain burns.

Who the hell is Bucky? This man is a soldier, a wintry one, one born of ice and cold. The fact that he has fire deep inside him isn’t anything he can tell anyone, not really. He doesn’t actually get to talk. His mouth is covered up more than half the time, and otherwise he’s biting down while they liquefy his brain.

 

His leg bleeds, and he laughs.

::

 

He wakes up in a chair, and his mouth is full. Gagging doesn’t do much, since they don’t help him with it.

He tries to laugh, but it doesn’t work.

He wonders why he knows the name Steve, but no one will really explain it to him, because no one will tell him anything.

::

He’s pretty, and she’s pretty, and the Soldier knows he belongs in prison. 

He’s pretty sure, anyway.

Their names escape him, so the Soldier calls them He and She, and that’s good enough. They seem soldierly, they seem rough-and-tumble, a bit like the Soldier used to be.

He thinks he used to be fun.

He’s not sure.

He kicks them both in the face

::

He wakes up in the chair, just like usual. The chair would become his familiar friend, if it didn’t mean cold and ice and frozen fear. He wants heat, wants the primal sense that, right now, he might die.

But here, no luck. They won’t let him die. 

He presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, copper blood warm on his lips.

::

The Soldier sees Him and Her and also Steve again, with Him flying and Her hiding guns on every part of her body, and Steve with his stupid fucking shield. The Soldier snorts, laughing at Steve’s stupid shield, his stupid nobility, and his ridiculous grip strength.

He’ll never get used to Steve being strong.

He wants to duck Steve under his arm and nudge his head, muss up his hair—but Steve’s taller than him now, and the Soldier has a metal arm now. He might crush someone’s head if he isn’t careful.

He doesn’t really feel careful, though, and he knows now that Steve can withstand anything he can throw into his face.

Even his own goddamn shield.

::

He’s in the chair, but he’s not. Maybe he’s dreaming. He knows that Steve is there, and Bucky’s there, but who’s Bucky? And who is he?

But they’re sharing a cigarette on a rickety fire-escape, both sat on their asses, knees touching knees. It’s sunny, and his throat feels warm with it all. It’s not just the smoke in his mouth and it’s not just the feel of Steve’s hand next to his, it’s the blank emotional space between.

::

There’s some gray again. He’s not in the chair this time, he’s looking at the guy with the eyepatch (a Different Him). The Soldier would really prefer not to kill him, as he’d really prefer not to actually kill anyone, except sometimes Steve, because his self-righteousness and his righteousness can really be too much.

But then, who is Steve.

 _Rogers,_ he thinks, staring down at a concrete sidewalk. _That’s his name._

::

Time swims.

Bucky used to know how to swim, probably, not that he was any good. The WPA public pools were pretty crappy, plus Steve could never really keep up with him.

In many ways, Steve could never keep up with him, but in more ways, Bucky could never keep up with Steve. He was always quite beautiful in a way Bucky couldn’t really put into words, because he was delicate and thoughtful and too big for his body. He was bigger than all their dreams and desires molded together.

Bucky was good and solid and strong, with straight teeth, a fine two-step, and a flirtatious smile that charmed every mother in Brooklyn.

But who the hell was Bucky?

::

He’s flat on his back staring up into the gray, and then a golden face swims into focus. 

Bucky laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: musiclily


End file.
